


Calling Me Home

by meholstein



Category: The Martian (2015), The Martian - All Media Types, The Martian - Andy Weir
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Ghosts, Hurt/Comfort, I Made Myself Cry, References to Drugs, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-09 04:37:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7787059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meholstein/pseuds/meholstein
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mark died, but he had unfinished business. He seeks out the crew. My 'Mark is a ghost' story, with a twist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Calling Me Home

**Author's Note:**

> I cried while writing this, a lot. Readers beware.

Chris and Beth moved into a cute old house right after they got back from Ares III. They took some time off, the whole crew did, returning to their homes and spending time with their family. But a few weeks after they moved in, suspicious things started happening in their cute old house.

"I think we have a ghost," Beth said, looking around.

Chris looked up. "What?"

"A ghost," she repeated. "Look. That glass has been moved, and you said you didn't do it, and we always hear the sound of doors opening when we didn't open them, and the tv is always doing weird things and changing the channel -"

"Beth, all of those things could just happen, on their own," Chris said.

She pursed her lips. "I know, you don't believe in God or spirits or any of that. But Chris… can't you feel it?"

Chris said nothing, just trying to search for whatever Beth was looking for.

"It's an old house," he said after a moment. "It wouldn't surprise me."

—

Usually, the ghost changed things around when they weren't looking. Things would be moved in the kitchen after they went to bed, the tv turned off or on, or the computers, or their phones, or the lights. Chris still wasn't sure it was a real ghost, and not just them moving things around and then forgetting about it.

"Lets put up a camera," Beth said one day.

"What?" Chris said.

"Lets put up a camera! Like in those horror movies," Beth said. "I've already picked one out online."

"You've picked out a camera for seeing ghosts," Chris said dryly.

Beth rolled her eyes. "Yeah, and we can actually settle this instead of bickering over whether or not it was you who left the TV on."

Nobody mentioned, nobody noticed, that the TV was always left on during a special about space.

—

Beth rolled over in the bed, already wide awake. Today was the day, she could check the camera and see if there were any ghosts around.

Chris was already awake when she got downstairs, hunched over the laptop in shock.

"What?" she asked, running over. The laptop was playing a three second loop of footage.

A man, the faint outline of one, staring at the tv. The TV flickers to a picture of Mars, a special of space. He vanishes.

Beth swore she recognized the outline.

"I didn't believe in ghosts," Chris said, empty.

"What if he tries to hurt us?" she said, suddenly concerned. She hadn't been serious, really serious, the whole time. "Don't people usually try to get rid of ghosts?"

"He won't hurt us," Chris says again in that empty voice. "He wouldn't."

Beth opened her mouth to ask he, but the image flickered onto the screen again. It was just a faint outline, pale, barely there.

Chris hit the spacebar, and froze the frame. The man stood in front of the image of Mars, and it clicked.

"Mark," Beth said hollowly.

—

That week, they bought an Ouiji board, sat in front of it and tried to talk to him. He didn't talk back.

Nothing happened for a week, actually, and they were afraid they'd scared him off. Each morning they got up, eagerly investigating the house for signs of it being messed with, but there were none there.

Another week passed.

"Did we imagine this?" Beth wondered, sitting at the kitchen table.

"Did we imagine that?" Chris asks, pointing to the still frame that the hung on the fridge, next to a picture of Mark from the same angle.

"Well, look, the man in the photo is thinner than Mark -"

"We have had this argument a thousand times," Chris pressed. "It's him. You can tell."

Suddenly, they both heard footsteps in the hall.

They didn't live far away from the city, and it wasn't unreasonable to think a robber would sneak into the house. Beth retreated, while Chris whipped around the corner.

There was nothing there, yet they could still hear the padding of feet.

Beth crept around the corner, and they stared at the spot in the hall where the footsteps stopped.

Chris was the first to move, straightening up and walking into the hall.

"He's here," Beth whispered, following him.

"Mark?" Chris said. "Are you there?"

For a moment they stood, frozen, holding their breath.

But after another moment, nothing happened.

"But we definitely heard something," Chris was already saying, turning back into the kitchen. "He was definitely -"

They both froze.

Over the printed still frame of the ghost was the word YES.

"Mark," Beth said, voice cracking. "Can you talk to us?"

This time, they truly received no response.

—

They laid in bed together, not sleeping, staring at the ceiling.

"Why is he haunting us?" Beth asked, denying the obvious.

"Maybe we're not the only people he's haunting," Chris said, quietly. "Maybe he's haunting the whole crew."

Neither of them said it.

He's haunting us because we left him.

—

The next day, they called Lewis.

"I know this sounds ridiculous, but he's haunting us."

"Beth, I can't believe what I'm hearing."

"Look," she said, tapping on her phone, sending the image. "We recorded this. We asked him if he was Mark, and that answer appeared over the picture."

"If this is a joke, it's in poor taste."

"It's not a joke," Beth hissed into the phone. "Come to the house, you'll see. Besides, you need to see the house anyways."

A sigh. "When?"

—

Inside of a month, the entirety of the Ares III crew was stuffed into the small kitchen of the Beck household.

"So where is this ghost?" Rick says, after they all say their greetings.

"We can hardly tell him when to appear or disappear," Chris says. "He's a ghost."

"You're really sure about this, huh," Alex says. "That this is Mark."

"Well, besides the tv turning to Mars, and him telling us it's him…" Beth shakes her head. "The shit he does. Neither Chris nor I would make a smiley face out of fruit loops on the kitchen counter."

"I think he'll show up, since we're all here," Chris said. "If it is Mark haunting us, it's not hard to guess why…" Everyone fell silent.

Melissa was the first to speak up. "He hasn't tried to… do anything? Anything bad?"

Beth shook her head firmly. "I know this is very scientific, but he doesn't feel angry."

"We left him there, dead," Melissa pressed. "And now he's haunting you."

"Ghosts only stick around because of unfinished business, every crappy horror movie in the world makes that clear," Rick said. "His unfinished business is pretty obvious."

"How would killing us all finish it?" Beth asked, sweeping her hands out. "The lights aren't even flickering, this is hardly the start of a slasher thriller."

"I presume you've tried asking him?" Alex again.

"Ouiji board. No answer."

"We could try again, with all of us," Melissa suggested, skepticism still evident on her face.

The lights flickered. "Don't bother."

Their heads whipped around.

Standing in the corner of the door was Mark Watney, wearing the NASA issue blue jumpsuit. But it hung off his frame too thin, he was too thin, he looked ragged.

"Mark?" Chris was the first to ask.

"Sorry, sorry," he mumbled, looking down. He flickered, and suddenly he looked healthy, muscular, but he was still wearing the NASA jumpsuit and there was blood all around the middle. He was holding a long, thin rod.

They could see him, but they could also tell he wasn't all the way here.

"Mark?" This time, Beth.

He didn't look up, still, just pressing his hand to his bloody side.

The rest of Ares III's eyes are round, glued to their seats. No one knows what to say.

Mark isn't saying anything, is just looking down, pressing his hand to his side, as if he's already forgotten they're here.

"You're dead," Beth says, not knowing what else to say.

"Yeah," Mark says, and he finally looks up, and the rod and the blood disappear.

"Why are you here?"

"What Rick said. Unfinished business." His voice is quiet, and he keeps looking around the room distractedly.

Suddenly, he disappears again.

"Mark!" Melissa yells, standing.

"Sorry, sorry," Mark says, rubbing his head, thin and haggard again. "This stuff is hard."

"What is your unfinished business?" Rick asks quickly, before he disappears again.

He looks at them, face drawn, long. "Did Satcon ever take photos of the Hab after you left?"

"I don't know," Alex says, the most steady of them all. "I do not think so."

Mark looks away, at the ground. "So I was alone after all."

"What's going on, Mark?" Beth's voice is soft. "Why are you here?" She walks toward him, slowly.

After she gets closer to him, she sees the way his cheekbones stand out. "Why are you so thin?"

He looks at her, eyes wide, and disappears again.

"Please stay," Beth says, a little louder. "Please talk to us."

They receive no response, and Beth curses to herself.

"How about we talk tonight, at 8pm?" Chris said. "We'll all be here."

From the living room the tv flickers on, to an old seventies show. The character says "okay."

"Believe us now?" Chris asks, more than a little irritated.

—

"Why was he so thin?" Melissa asked.

Chris had a theory, but he didn't want to say anything yet.

—

They all wait impatiently for 8pm, sitting around the couches and chairs in the room. They've left one for Mark by the door, empty. For half an hour beforehand they sit this way, no one saying anything. They all agreed earlier, they can't waste time catching up. If Mark had unfinished business, he needed their help.

At 8pm, on the dot, his image flickered to life in the living room's doorway.

"Did you die on Sol 6?" Chris says quietly, before anyone can get a word in edgewise.

Mark looks down, face devastated. "No."

He flickers, changes into his healthy self. He's wearing the EVA suit, there's an antenna through his middle, and they can see it's right through his biomonitor clear as day. He rips it out of his body, screaming, and the crew watches this in slow motion. What the hell is happening?

"Mark?" Beth asks, wondering if he's all there.

Flickering, again, Mark is no longer wearing the EVA suit, just the jumpsuit and standing in the doorway.

"Sorry, sorry," he says, looking up at them, now grinning lopsidedly. "Being a ghost is hard, to control. I remember things and they just…" he waves his hand.

"Remember things?" Chris asks.

Mark continues talking, not hearing him. "And sometimes I don't remember I'm dead, I think I'm alive again, but then I'm not."

"So what's it like, being dead?" Rick asks. The rest of them glare at him, and he says "what? We're talking to a ghost. I think it's only prudent to ask what being dead is like."

"Confusing," Mark answered. "Most of the time, I'm not… I'm not all here. I think I'm alive, or I just… want you to know…" he trails off again, looking around. "I'm not myself. I'm like a memory of myself."

"You're still you, right?" Beth asked uncertainly.

"Oh, yeah. I know that as soon as I'm done here, I'm going to go on to where everyone goes when they die."

"Where's that?" Rick asked.

Mark shrugged, looking down.

"When you're done here?" Alex asks softly. "What do you need to do?"

Mark doesn't say anything, just looks down, winds his hands in his hair.

"If you didn't die on Sol 6, when did you die?" He asks, ever so gently.

"Sol 113," he says raggedly, and suddenly he's the thin man again, half starved, eyes wide.

"How did you die?"

The image flickers, suddenly he's on his knees, on the ground in his EVA suit, grasping at things that aren't there. They watch as he presses the buttons on his suit, can see the bar change to pure nitrogen, watch as he lays down in what appears to be dirt, and closes his eyes.

Everyone's eyes are watering, Beth is crying, Melissa is crying, Chris is crying as they stand there and watch him die. The image snaps away.

"When was Sol 113?" Rick asks.

"That's about 150 days, so it would have been…" Beth gasps. "Around when we bought this house."

"We have to find out exactly what day," Melissa says.

"Mark," Rick asks the empty air. "How did you survive Sol 6?"

Mark flickers back, wearing his jumpsuit, looking angry as hell. He's throwing things, things they can see in his hands are lab equipment that disappear as soon as he throws them.

"I don't want to die here!" He's screaming, throwing a microscope. "Not alone on this fucking rock!"

"It's like he said," Alex murmured. "He's a memory."

"This is what he was doing? While we thought he was dead?" Melissa said. "Trying to survive?"

Alex is walking towards Mark now, a hand out. "Mark," he said, approaching him, still shouting and screaming. "You are not alone."

"I am alone," he said, dropping what he's holding and turning to Alex, meeting him in the eyes, now eerily still. "I am alone on Mars and you left me here."

"I'm so sorry," Melissa said, still crying. "Mark, I killed you, I'm so sorry."

He backed up from Alex, eyes wide, hands up. "Not your fault, Commander, you made the right call. You thought I was dead. Not your fault." For the moment, he's all here, solid and corporeal and healthy.

"Why do you keep…" Rick gestured. "Turning into a memory?"

"You ask me questions, I remember what happened, and it just happens again, I guess. I'm still not sure."

He laughs a nervous laugh, and winds his hands together. "I can feel myself fading away, you know. I want to go, but I can't, not yet."

Rick walks closer to Mark now, too. "You can let go," he murmurs. On a limb, he says "You're not alone on Mars anymore. You can let go. God is waiting for you."

"God abandoned me," he snarles, and disappears.

"Sorry! I won't bring it up again!" Rick yells, to the now empty room.

Mark's back again, but he's staring at something they can't see, and they can hear music playing in the background.

Oh if he really does exist  
Why did he desert me  
In my hour of need  
I truly am indeed  
Alone again, naturally

"I don't know," Rick admits, "But you're in a better position to ask him than me."

Mark doesn't respond, staring at whatever he's staring at, but the music fades to nothing.

"What do you want us to do?" Melissa asks.

"I don't want to be alone anymore," he admits, turning to the side. "I just don't want to die alone."

No one says it. You already died alone. They fucking left him there.

"You left," he said, staring at the wall. "Everyone was on Earth and I was on Mars, alone."

"We're here now," Alex says softly. "You're not alone. Tell us what happened."

"I don't…" Mark says, staring at the wall. "I don't have the energy tonight."

"You may be a ghost, but we aren't, man," Rick laughs quietly. "We're leaving in a couple days, to…" Rick doesn't finish the sentence. Get back to our lives. Because Mark doesn't have one anymore.

"Tomorrow," Mark murmurs, and he's gone. No one bothers trying to call him back.

—

They had written down on a piece of paper everything that they knew, everything they saw.

He died on Sol 113, not Sol 6. Killed himself with nitrogen. Kneeling in dirt that didn't look like Martian sand. The lighting was dark.  
On Sol 6, something stabbed his biomonitor. He pulled it out, but it was very bloody.  
In between, he was thin. Starving.  
He was angry. He wanted to know why God abandoned him.  
He wanted to move on, but he couldn't.

"Are we on therapy duty for Mark Watney's ghost?" Chris asked, after they compiled the list.

"I'm not sure," Melissa admits. "I think we're just supposed to listen."

"He's hardly making any sense," Chris says. "But he did say, being a ghost is hard."

—

They spent the day sitting around the house, doing nothing. No one wanted to be busy when Mark reached out again.

Afternoon found them in the backyard, enjoying the weather.

Nobody noticed Mark appear beside them, silently standing with them. It was Rick who turned around, feeling eyes, and startled. "Mark!"

Everyone else turned around, abruptly. Mark was just watching the sun set with them, happily leaning against a bench.

"Never thought I'd see that again," he laughed quietly. "But I didn't, not really. It's like…" he fumbled for words. "I know I must look transparent to you. But you all look transparent to me. Faded. Like a dream. The memories are the more real. When I get lost, I think I'm alive again. But I know I must be dead, because I remember dying."

"I'm sorry," Rick says, after a moment.

"'My condolences?'" Mark joked.

"There isn't etiquette on what to say to a dead guy."

Mark looked into the distance again, flickering, not disappearing.

"Are you still with us?" Beth asked, loudly, and he gave no response.

"I died on Mars," he said after a moment. "I didn't escape."

He saw them, as if remembering they were there again. "I tried to escape. Did I tell you that already? I tried to escape. Started growing potatoes, planning to get to Schiaparelli."

"You grew potatoes? On Mars?" Chris said, incredulous.

"They were good potatoes," he said, and then he flickered, the image changed, him kneeling in dirt bending over potato plants. He was talking to them, telling them all that he loved them, and that he was sorry he was going to have to cannibalize them. They watched for a few minutes, no one saying anything. The memories were more real, more solid, then when he stood before them trying to talk to them.

"Mark?" Beth said, eventually, watching him clean off a potato.

Suddenly the image turned dark. It was night, and he was wearing an EVA suit. They recognized the dirt, recognized the night, but instead of changing his air composition he was bending over frozen potato plants, crying. They could see the leaves snapping off.

"What happened?" Chris asked quietly.

Like a movie, the image changed again. It was inside the airlock, but in slow motion it ripped, and blown away. The image flickered again, now completely solid, to him screaming curses at the planet. He's screaming about how it wins. But he doesn't let it win, he patches up the air leak and sits in the airlock, crying.

"The Hab was breached, so the plants died," Beth supplied quietly. "It wasn't enough food?"

Suddenly he wasn't crying, he was standing, faded and skeletal but here. "It wasn't going to be enough food anyways."

"Why…" Chris asks, and steels himself. "Why did you try?"

Mark looks up at him, devastated. "I thought somebody would notice I'm alive. Maybe send supplies… Why didn't they notice?" He's looking away now. "Didn't I matter?"

"Of course you matter, Mark," Chris says, the closest to him, reaching out to his shoulder. Mark doesn't appear to hear.

Chris's hand makes contact with Mark's shoulder, and suddenly he's solid, and healthy, and standing in front of them. Mark's put his hand over Chris's on his shoulder, and Chris chokes back a sob.

"I shouldn't be here," Mark says, more strongly than ever. "It's wrong."

"No it's not," Beth says. "Like you said, you have something to do before you move on."

"I don't know what it is," he pleads, looking at all of them. "I just want it to be over. I just want to rest."

"I don't think it's something you do," Melissa says, walking over. "I think it's something we have to do. You tell us your story, your whole story. And we tell you that we love you, Mark, and that you're not alone anymore."

Mark is throwing Chris's hand off of himself, backing up, overwhelmed, fading again.

"Am I close?" Melissa asks.

Mark backs up into the wall of the house and slides down it, head in his hands. "No. I'm alone."

She takes that as confirmation, kneeling down in front of him. "Not anymore, Mark. You're with us. It's over. You can rest."

Mark's image disappears, and they hear his voice from across the backyard.

"I just want to talk to another human before I die," he's saying, looking at the habJournal camera. He's naked, but no one cares, no one even thinks to care. The image is solid, superimposed on the grassy field. "I just want someone to know what really happened to me."

The images changes again, suddenly. "Don't I matter?!" he's screaming, throwing things again. "Doesn't anyone care?!"

The image disappears again.

"Of course we care," Rick is saying loudly, to the empty air. "We cried for you endlessly."

"But you didn't look!" Mark is back, and he's solid and he's real and he's with them, pointing and yelling at them. "If you'd just pointed your fucking telescopes at the Hab and looked -"

"I know!" Melissa cried. "And we didn't, and that's our fault. We failed. But it wasn't because you don't matter, Mark -"

Mark's image flickers again, changing from anger to concern in one frame. "No, Melissa, it wasn't your fault -"

"No, you listen," She commands waveringly. "You matter. We're crappy, flawed humans who didn't confirm death because we thought the biomonitor was enough and we didn't want to see your body lying on the surface of Mars. We didn't look because we're flawed, not because you're not loved."

"Haven't you talked to your parents?" Chris asks. "They love you."

"I can't do that to them," he says, face drawn. "They're finally beginning to move on. I can't take that from them."

"But you can take that from us," Beth quirks a smile.

Another flicker. Anger. "You left me there!" He points at Beth, and a stone flies up from the ground and hits the side of the house over her head. She dives to the side, and Chris reaches out for her.

Mark appears instantly at her side. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," he's mumbling, brushing her off and backing away. "I'm not a person, remember? I'm an angry spirit…" he's muttering to himself now. "Of course they left you here Mark, look at you."

Another flicker, he's back where he was before, wandering around the Hab. "You know why they left you, right? Because you're a bad fucking person, that's why. They know all the shit you've done…"

"That's not true," Beth says, wavering. "You're the nicest man I've ever known."

He continues to talk to himself, bereating himself, not hearing.

Beth marches over, landing a hand on his shoulder. "Stop it, Mark. You are kind, optimistic, and one of the best men I've ever known."

The scenery falls away, and Mark stills where he was, unmoving.

"You did not deserve to die the way you did. You least of all."

He's still unmoving, staring at the grass, but Beth knows she has his full attention.

"You got one more chance," Beth said, and he's solid underneath her hand. "To talk to us. You got it. You're here, we're here. You matter. We care. You said you wanted someone to know what happened to you, so tell us."

Beth grabs his hand and leads him over to the circle of lawn chairs, sits him down in one, and pulls her own much closer to him.

"This is real," he murmurs, gripping her hand tightly. He's solid, as physical and real as any of them.

"Yes," she says warmly.

"I guess God didn't abandon me," he admits, glancing at Rick. "He's giving me one more chance."

Rick drags his chair closer, and so does everyone else.

Mark draws a rattling breath, and tells his story.

—

He doesn't disappear, or get lost in the memories. The words pour from his mouth, forthcoming, sharing all the details, and they can almost forget that this story ends in sadness and doesn't end with him sitting right here in front of them. Because he is, he's as real as any of them and he's holding their hands in turn.

He gets to the end of the story, and he's crying, hunched over in front of them.

"I just couldn't fucking do it," he cries. "I had food for hundreds more sols but I didn't… I didn't want them…"

"No one is judging you, Mark," Rick says, grabbing his hand. "You did better than any of us ever could."

"So I…" he draws a rattling breath. "There were morphine pills somewhere, but I didn't want to bother to find them and crawl back to the rover. I didn't want a second more of this existence, so I just… sat down…" He covers his face with his hands. "I just gave up. Died, right there in the dirt. Pathetic."

"You didn't give up," Melissa said. "You did all you could. You fought as hard as you could. I'm proud to call you my friend."

Mark leans over, and cries, and everyone puts their hands on his back and his arms until suddenly they're all hugging him. They hug for a long time, nobody wanting to let go, knowing it would be the end.

Mark, of everyone, is the first to pull away. "It's over," he says, another tear leaking from his face. "It's finally over."

No one says anything. They don't want Mark to go.

"Don't worry, I'm not leaving quite yet," he says, laughing quietly. Suddenly, he's wearing street clothes.

"When are you?" Beth asks.

He looks toward the sun, about a half hour away from setting. "Well you guys are all going home tonight, right? I think I am too."

"Where are you going? I mean, I know you said home, but…" Rick shrugged. Ever religious, ever curious.

"I can't tell you Rick, that's cheating," he laughed. "Besides, I don't know. I'm as in the dark as you are."

"You're dead, yet you're hanging out with us," Chris said. "That's already cheating."

"If you're gonna be here until the end of the night, I'm grabbing a beer," Rick said. "Anyone want one?"

"Me!" Mark exclaims. "Man, I'm so excited, never thought I'd have beer again."

"Are you really?" Melissa asks.

Mark looks down. "Yeah. Beth sat me down, told me to talk, and… I'm all here now. Alive. Bet I'm even killable again if you tried."

Rick runs in and out of the house with beers in his hand, setting a land speed record for how fast someone produced a sixer.

"And of course, it's crap beer," he holds up the Pabst, inspecting it. "It's my last fucking beer ever, you couldn't buy something nice?"

"I didn't know we'd be sending you on to the afterlife when I went to the store last week," Beth said. "I'll try harder next time."

He drinks it deeply, enjoying it. "So. My turn. What were you doing while I was at Club Mars?"

—

They talk, they laugh. Everyone shares what they did when they were gone. They don't talk about the funeral much, or how they coped. Mark doesn't need to hear, he can see in their faces how much they cared.

They silently watched the sunset together. Mark commented on the blue skies, and how they should never take this sight for granted. It sat heavy in their souls.

Eventually, it came time to go. The sun was set, the stars were coming out, and the night had met it's end.

"You're gonna make me say it, aren't you," Mark said, standing up and stretching. "Well, it's time for me to head home." He brushes his shirt down with his hands. "And I think I'm ready to go."

Rick stands gamely, putting on a brave face. "Me too. Marissa will be wondering where I am. But… we're gonna all get in a taxi and drive to the airport. Where you gonna go?"

"Get in the chariot of fire out front, just like Jesus and Elijah."

Rick's eyes boggled, and Mark laughed.

"Got you, dude."

"Don't joke about that, man."

"I'm going to walk through the front door, like the rest of you morons."

"Then?"

Mark just shrugged, walking inside. The rest of them followed him, throwing their beers in the recycling.

Everyone hugged each other, patted backs.

"I'm glad you're at peace," Alex said.

"What makes you say that?"

"We are all the ones trying to hug you for a long time, not the other way around."

His reply is murmured. "At the end, it all becomes clear."

"Want to share some of that clarity?" Rick, again.

"Cheating. I'll snitch on you to God."

"It is reassuring to know," Alex says, "That at least something good awaits us after death."

Everyone stood at the door, bags packed. It was time.

"After I leave, you can't all stand around crying," Mark said. "You have to walk out the door too, like normal."

Mark's smile becomes soft. "I'll give you one thing, Rick."

"What?"

"I can hear him calling me home."

He walks to the door, and opens it. The night is perfect and clear, and Mark's healthy body outlined against it. He's in his spacesuit again, standing tall and proud, and their eyes water. Mark Watney, Astronaut.

He turns around, with a soft smile on his face, and closes the door.

**Author's Note:**

> So I think I want to go back and rewrite this to add a lot more detail, but I can't even re-read it without making myself cry (again).
> 
> EDIT: I read this again a few weeks after I wrote it and cried, *again*
> 
> \----
> 
> I write original fiction and nonfiction too! Take a look. (http://eepurl.com/dfSrvL).


End file.
